


i want to believe

by Mongo00



Series: holding on (to life) [7]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Gen, POV First Person, POV Tyler Joseph, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 09:52:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13521753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mongo00/pseuds/Mongo00
Summary: I want to believe that I’ll quit self harming one day; I want to believe that I’ll be better one day. I want to believe that I’ll stay clean. I want to believe.





	i want to believe

I had an urge to harm. I kept fighting it for an hour before I was on the verge of breaking my four day clean streak, so I called Josh. Josh, of course, picked up; I don’t know what I’d do without him. 

We talked for 15 minutes, and the thoughts slowly left my mind. I felt okay; I felt stable. 

I was playing my ‘understands’ playlist, and played the keyboard for a bit. I turned on my diffuser, and tried my best to distract myself. 

Around 8pm, the thoughts came back. This time, I didn’t want to fight back. This time, I didn’t call Josh.

I sat on the floor of my bed in tears and cut. I cut on my hip because the weather was warming up, so arms were not an option anymore. 

I cut because I wanted to feel the release; I needed the pain. I hope Josh doesn’t feel like he failed because he didn’t. He helped me. I didn’t reach out the second time because I didn’t want to bother him. Because I thought maybe, just maybe, I would feel better after I cut. 

I didn’t put up a fight this time, and I’m sorry Josh. I’m sorry that I disappointed you because I cut. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to fight it; I’m tired of fighting it. 

My mom came in my room, and yelled at me later that night because I was being too antisocial for her liking, because I didn’t want to watch TV with her. She told me to stop bouncing my leg out of anxiousness. She told me to get out of my room more. 

She wants me to be normal, to act normal. She wants to think that I’m cured since I’m on meds now. She doesn’t know that I cut, and it has to stay that way.

She doesn’t understand it, and she never will. 

At 9pm, I wanted to cut again. I wanted to see the red, not the blood. Using a pencil actually cuts deeper than blades, and there’s no blood. It takes longer to cut, and hurts more because I have to run the tip over the line multiple times. Easy clean up, and more pain. It’s a win-win for the voice in my head. 

It was 9pm and I didn’t want to reach out again. I feel bad for reaching out, for bothering my friends. 

I took a hot shower, and winced as the fresh cut came into contact with water. I’m not a fan of pain. I’ve always hated cuts, scrapes, and bruises; I’ve never broken a bone. For some reason, the voice in my head has changed that. That voice loves to see me in pain. 

The cuts make the voice smile while they make me shameful. The cuts shut the voice up, and that’s why I give in; I give in so I have a quiet night. 

The cut stings anytime I move. My sweatpants hang on my waist, and rub against the cut. It hurts, metaphorically and literally.

Josh later texts me if I stayed clean; I don’t break the news to him. 

I hate disappointing Josh, and I don’t want him to think that it was his fault that I cut. If it weren’t for him, I would’ve cut double or triple the amount that I have.

Josh is the best friend I could ever ask for. 

I didn’t cut again for the rest of the night, totaling only one slit for the night. It was better than my average of two/three. 

I want to believe that I’ll quit self harming one day; I want to believe that I’ll be better one day. I want to believe that I’ll stay clean. I want to believe.


End file.
